


Mr. Loverman

by ENDPORT4L



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft RPF, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BadBoyHalo - Freeform, Car Accidents, George - Freeform, He Just Doesn't Know It Yet, M/M, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Non supportive family, Panic Attacks, Questioning, RPF, Songfic, Tumblr, Wilbur Soot - Freeform, YouTube, dream - Freeform, dream x george, dreamnotfound, george is fully in love, mr loverman, none of the main characters tho dont worry, ricky montgomery - Freeform, sapnap - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ENDPORT4L/pseuds/ENDPORT4L
Summary: Sometimes, a simple decision is what changes your life the most. Sometimes, a tragedy is a blessing in disguise. Not always, but enough of the time for a few lucky people to benefit. We were some of those people. A simple decision changed… everything. Everyone. Changed me, changed him. Sometimes, we regret those decisions. Other times, they’re the best thing that’s ever happened. We made history together. We made our own history. We changed ourselves for the better. Part of it was born of tragedy, of pain and suffering, of wrong-place-wrong-time. But after, we were born anew. A butterfly emerging from fog.The rainbow after a storm. A soft mist at the edge of a violent fall. Our own little refuge within the storm. We made history together, you and me.“I’ve shattered now, I’m spilling outUpon this linoleum groundI’m reeling in my brain againBefore it can get back to youOh, what am I supposed to do without you?”Or, George and Dream move in together, and George finds out a lot about himself in the process.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 18





	1. A New Chapter Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> hey! welcome to my first fic on here! i kinda feel like i’m back in freshman year writing youtube rpf but hey! we’re all regressing anyway aren’t we? this is a dreamnotfound fic based on the online personas of georgenotfound and dream. this is in no way meant to pressure them or their relationship, and if either of them say they’re uncomfortable with fanfiction i’ll take this down! but anyway at the beginning of every chapter there will be a content warning section and a summary if needed, or if any plot altering events happen during the possibly triggering sections. i hope y’all enjoy Mr. Loverman, a fic based on the song by Ricky Montgomery. 
> 
> follow me on tumblr and twitter @/authorbeware !! 
> 
> Content Warnings: none

_“What if we moved in together?”_

_George laughed._

_‘What? You’re joking.”_

_“No! I’m totally serious!” Dream said, laying on his bed. “Think about it. You could get a work visa, come live with me, and we can make videos together! Like vlogs and stuff! You can get away from your family, and I… well I get you! It’s obviously a win-win situation.”_

_“Vlogs? You don’t even show your face.”_

_“Oh… yeah. Well, whatever! I’ll do a face reveal. Please, George!”_

_George’s hesitance showed, making Dream bounce on his knees on the bed, literally begging him._

_“Please George! Please!” he laughed, waiting for him to agree. George stayed silent, trying to hide his smile._

_“I guess you don’t love me then… oh bother,” Dream fake pouted at him, pretending to cry, rubbing his eyes to make them red. He couldn’t hide the smile in his voice._

_“Okay, alright, you wore me down,” George said. “Looks like I’m going to Florida!”_

* * *

It’d been three months since Dream asked George to move in with him, and every day he’d sent him pictures of their place. _Their_ place. He doesn’t know why that made him so happy to hear, especially coming from Dream. When he showed George the lounge and texted him “ _our living room :D,_ ” he felt like his whole entire body was lit ablaze. Like a firework on the Fourth of July – _how American of you already, George,_ he could hear Dream’s voice saying. It felt like when his first girlfriend told him I love you for the first time. Except… not that. Obviously not that. 

And the day was finally here, after waiting for the visa to get approved, and video chats, and seeing only pictures, it was finally going to be their place. Dream and George’s place. There would be no more lagging video or Discord crashing on them. If the internet went out, he’d still be in the next room over. He’d still be his.

Well, not his. But he’d be there. George felt the need to explain himself even in his own head.

The sound of Dream’s Discord ringer cut through his thoughts, too loud for his own good. He stretched over to his desk and answered, turning his camera on too. 

“Georgie!” Dream said, bouncing with excitement. “Guess what tomorrow is, Georgie.” He leaned forward on his desk, wiggling his eyebrows at George. 

George feigned confusion. “I don’t know, Dream. What’s tomorrow?”

Dream pouted. “Are you being serious right now? Do you really not remember?”

“Dream! I’m literally packing right now!”

“ _I’m litch-rally packing right now!_ ” Dream mocked, impersonating George’s British accent. George stared him down while Dream was folded over laughing. 

“It’s not too late for me to change my mind, you know.”

“Actually, it is. Work visas have to be used or you’ll get a fine,” Dream said, chewing loudly on what looked like — popcorn? God, Americans were weird. 

“Is that actually true or did you just make that up so I have no choice but to come?” 

Dream looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “…Maybe.” George laughed silently, smiling to himself. He would never say it out loud, but he loved Dream. He didn’t know what made him keep it to himself when Dream all but shouted it from the rooftops, but something inside of him felt it was too real to be said. Dream knew it was true, and that was good enough, right? 

“Did you want to watch me pack?” George said, folding another one of his shirts and placing it in the box. Dream wasn’t paying attention. He was messing with something on his desk, his tongue sticking out and his eyebrows furrowed so tightly you could barely see his eyes. George loved his eyes, they were a warm pale green color that fit him perfectly. George snapped his fingers at Dream and asked if he was listening. 

“Huh? Oh. No. I’m sorry,” Dream looked sheepish, worried. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to, I just zone out sometimes, I’m really sorr—“ 

“Dream, Dream, calm down. It’s okay,” George smiled. “I’m not mad. Did you want me to ask the question again?”

“Please.”

“I asked if you wanted to watch me pack,” he asked, knowing which answer he hoped for. 

“Ooh, can I stay on?” Dream looked giddy as he asked. “I wanna tell you about my new bedwars record.”

“Sounds perfect, Dream.” 

* * *

It took him two more hours to finish packing up his clothes, bathroom necessities, and shoes, spare for the ones he needed on the plane. Dream had talked on and on for the whole two hours, about bedwars and what he was going to make for dinner, and how his mom sent him over homemade banana bread the other day. And even Patches made an appearance after a while. 

“Oh my God, Patches! I get to meet Patches! You know Dream, I’m kind of more excited to meet her than I am you.”

“Haha, very funny,” Dream cooed. “Not like Patches will make you dinner or comfort you when you have nightmares.”

“Nightmares? I do not have nightmares!” George defended, despite the fact he did definitely have nightmares. And he knew Dream knew that, he’d been the one called at 4 in the morning and the one who talked George back to sleep. It was all part of the game, though, the cat and mouse they had going on. He wondered who was the cat and who was the mouse

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Georgie. Oh, wait,” Dream smirked, laughing his ass off. George gasped and tossed his dirty shirt at his webcam, not minding the fact that it was still on his body and that he was now shirtless in his cold room. 

“Hey! I wanna see the view! You look sexy with your hair messed up like that.”

“Haha, very funny,” George fake laughed, though Dream didn’t. He usually laughed after jokes like that. What made this one different? “If I wasn’t so bloody cold right now I’d leave it on there. Make you suffer all alone under there.” He heard Dream whimper, and he didn’t know what it was, but it made his stomach churn. “But, I am very, very freezing right now.”

He pulled the shirt off the webcam, covering his chest with the fabric. “There. You have been freed,” he said, slipping his shirt back on. He swore he saw Dream’s eyes linger on the strip of skin still exposed on his stomach before he pulled it down. 

“I’m gonna go make some dinner,” George said, checking the time on his phone. “What, it’s already 9? Jesus. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go make some cereal real quick, stay on the call.”

George put Dream’s volume loud enough that he could hear it decently from across the flat. Meaning, Dream could also hear him burning himself. 

“Did you just burn yourself? Aren’t you making cereal?” 

“Um…maybe?” he said, shouting over the cold running water. “I may have accidentally left the oven on from when I made salmon last night.”

“Last night?” Dream screamed in horror. “Genuinely, how are you not dead yet?” 

“I don’t know!” he said, wincing and drying off his hand before grabbing his bowl of cereal. Well, it wasn’t a bowl, but a large Tupperware container. 

“Is that Tupperware?” Dream asked as he sat down at his desk. 

“It was the easiest thing to unpack.” 

George ate his cereal in silence for a few minutes, drinking down the last bit of the sugary milk before asking “What were you staring at earlier? When you got distracted.” 

It took Dream a few seconds, but he finally remembered. “Oh! This!” He pulled out a tiny crossbow made of pencils and shot a rubber band at his camera. 

“That’s actually so sick,” George said, staring more intently at his screen to get a closer look. Dream went off on a tangent about it, showing him the mechanics and everything it could shoot. He swore he’d have another one for George by the time he got home. Home. He liked that word coming out of Dream’s mouth. He liked hearing it about himself. 

Eventually, it got too late for George to be up anymore. His flight left in 7 hours and he still needed to pack his PC. Dream pouted when he told him he had to go, but perked back up when he remembered the next time he’d see George, he’d be able to hug him! He was all but forcing his body to get tired after that. 

“Wake me up if you need me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Georgie,” Dream smiled. This time, he didn’t sound teasing. He sounded genuine, more genuine than he’d heard in a long time. 

“I… admire you too, Dream.” George’s face went flush and hot, his cheeks blotchy with pink and peach. 

“Psh! When are you ever gonna say it back?” 

“Never, I thought we’d been over this.”

“Mark my words, Georgie. I will get you to say it back sooner or later.”

Yeah, right.


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream get what they've always wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to chapter 2!! it’s currently the weekend so updates probably won’t be as frequent as this in the future, but for now, here’s this!! also please ignore the fact that i skipped over security check at the airport, i’ve only been on a plane once before and didn’t want to drag the chapter down with non-plot-altering paragraphs :3 this was supposed to be a longer chapter but i wanted to get this out tonight so i cut it in half. i hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> Content Warnings: planes
> 
> Chapter 3 - Linoleum Ground (date TBD)

The next morning came all too quickly, it seemed. The minute he finished packing up his PC, he was out like a light, despite all but one of his sheets being packed away in boxes. And when he woke up to his alarm blaring and his phone ringing, he knew what today was. 

Today was the best day of his life. 

Dream was calling him. He answered with sleep still nestled in his voice. 

“Hello?”

“Woah, morning voice. Hello, George,” he said, chuckling when George coughed it away. “Aw, but I liked it.” He could hear his pouting even an ocean away. 

“What did you want again? I really have to get going soon.” 

“Oh yeah! I forgot! I wanted to talk to you about...” George hung on every word, worried it was something serious. Then, he heard the soft strumming of a guitar and someone singing the low melody of a scrappy, poorly written song, consisting of George’s name, _we love you,_ and the number of miles, hours, and oceans he’d have to cross to get home. Home. He still loved that word. 

“Is that Wilbur on guitar?” 

“Yeah! Say hi Wilbur!” Dream held the phone away from his face and towards the PC speaker. 

“Hi Wilbur!” he heard the other Brit say. 

“We love you and can’t, can’t, can’t, _can’t_ _wait_ to see you in… ten hours and 38 minutes!” 

George’s heart felt so, so warm. Like someone lit a tiny fire in his chest, full of fleece and hot cocoa and candy floss. Wait — cotton candy! He was going to be an American, after all. “Thank you guys. Seriously.”

There was a beat of comfortable silence before Dream spoke again. George felt so much comfort in that silence. He wished he could be wrapped up in it, smothered in the soft breaths he heard on the other end and the lingering melodics of Dream’s voice. Soon he could hear it in person. It would be his home. His beautiful, warm, perfect home. There wouldn’t be any more freezing winters, or whispering doubts like the wind in the dark leaves outside his apartment. The ones that make him shiver and grip the covers tighter. The only whisper he’d hear would be Dream’s, the one telling him everything will be okay. No more would he be afraid. 

“Your plane leaves in an hour! Get going, grasshopper! Call me when you land, please?” 

“Always,” George muttered, breathless from his own hurricane of thoughts. 

“Bye George!” they both sang out, Wilbur still strumming on his guitar as the line clicked. 

He shoved his head into his one remaining pillow. He could not wait to hug that thoughtful, endearing, charismatic pain in the ass. But right now, he had a plane to catch. 

\---

He got out the door five minutes too late, his cab beeping at him the whole way down the stairs. His landlord was waiting outside his door for the key. 

“My family will be by later this week to send the rest of my boxes down to Florida, so they’ll be asking for the key,” George said, dropping the key in his landlord’s hand. He just grumbled, hobbling back up the stairs, not even saying a single word of goodbye to the tennant he’s had for 3 years. 

“Goodbye to you too, then,” George sighed. His reaction just made him that much more excited to leave this city behind him. He was in a new chapter now. One without unhappiness or grumbling landlords or doom and gloom weather. Florida was hot and humid, and it had beaches and surfing, and (finally) good sushi, and it had _Dream_. That was the most important part. 

He smiled to himself as he jumped in his cab, knee bouncing in unrest. “Airport, please. Hurry,” he said, his driver speeding off faster than he could even finish his sentence. George’s back slammed against the seat, but he didn’t care about the sting the seatbelt left. He didn’t care about anything else but getting home. He had a pouch full of extra strong melatonin for the plane; he was hoping he could just down them with a cup of flat airplane Sprite and when he woke up, he’d be hovering over Florida. His thoughts kept him occupied until they reached the packed, musty airport.

A bald head turned around in the seat, and a disturbingly hairy hand put the car in park. His driver spoke with a thick Scottish accent. “That’ll be 27.58,” he said, stark. George swiped his card, and the driver grunted in response. He could barely shut the door before he was speeding off. 

“Jesus,” George muttered, “Run over my damn toes, why don’t you.”

His thin arms hauled his too-large suitcase across the terminals, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He debated stopping to get a pretzel, but his nervous stomach growled in opposition. He’d eat when he got home. 

_Home,_ he thought, smiling like a child in the middle of the airport. It wasn’t until someone bumped roughly into his shoulder that he realized he’d stopped midway through the hall, too lost in the thought, too enamored in the idea of having a home with Dream. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get him out of his head? Meeting your best friend for the first time shouldn’t leave you blushing and stumbling over yourself like a lost puppy. _Get it together,_ he thought again, willing himself with all his might _not_ to think about getting wrapped up in Dream’s arms, or sitting criss-cross on Dream’s soft bed deep into the night, talking about whatever it is they talk about. _Do not think about that._ And _definitely_ do not think about falling asleep in his bed because you were both too tired to move. _No more thinking,_ he vouched to himself. 

He coughed and forced his feet to move forward, though they fought like hell to stay in place. The crisp, dry, horrible air seemed to suffocate him, trapping him underneath three tons of stench and mildew growing in the cracks. He took a deep breath and tried to forget about the spores probably flowing into his lungs. 

The terminal on his ticket was only a few minutes away, and he only had ten before boarding, so he booked it, shuffling his feet as fast as they could while dragging his suitcase along. He was _very_ thankful he didn’t decide to bring his PC as a carry-on. He made it to a seat with empty lungs and three minutes to spare.

George huffed as he sat down, pulling his suitcase in front of his feet so he could use it as a footrest. He wasn’t made for hard labor. _Hard labor, my ass,_ he could hear Dream saying already. He was made for sitting. At a desk. In a warm, non-mildew infested room. 

Dream looked like he was made for working, broad shoulders and arms that actually functioned like arms, and not just flimsy sticks. He was tall too. Broad shoulders and thick forearms, and strides like-

George’s thoughts were cut off by the shrill flight attendant calling for economy boarding. He welcomed the interruption; he didn’t want to think about where his mind would be going next. He wasn’t gay, or even bi, but he didn’t discriminate. A beautiful person was a beautiful person.

Bending his tired knees, he picked up his suitcase for the last time today and hauled it to the conveyor belt, watching it drift away into… wherever suitcases go. He didn’t actually know, he was just glad he wouldn’t have to carry it anymore. He pulled out his ticket and let the same shrill woman scan it. She had flimsy red hair and green eyes, like Dream. God, would he ever stop thinking about him? Probably. This couldn’t last forever. 

He bared the bite of the chill morning air as he walked down the corridor towards the plane. The vessel itself was warm, and a flight attendant offered him a bag of treats as he walked in. It was disappointingly full of nothing but cheap mints, lollipops, and an airline branded notepad. He decided to keep his backpack with him, as it had the melatonin pills and his earbuds. And he could scream into it if he was somehow placed next to a smelly old man or, God forbid, a fussy baby. 

It seemed like he was alone in his row, the tray table folded up and the gratuities still tucked in their respective pouches. _Yes,_ he thought, bouncing in his chair and spreading his legs over the seats. He got dirty looks from the other passengers, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting home. Taking out his phone, he opened the iMessage thread he had with Dream and texted him _On the plane now, will update when I land. Admire you <3” _

Dream’s text bubble popped up right away. He responded with _“yayyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!! :D :D,”_ at first, but he didn’t stop typing. A new message popped up: _“something to keep you occupied on the plane ;)”_

George opened the mysterious MP3 file, popping in his earbuds. Soft, slow strumming filled his ears, and Dream and Wilbur’s voices cascaded through him. This version had Sapnap doing background beatboxing, too. He smiled to himself, typing his reply as he let it play.

_“You bastard, when did you have time to do this?”_

His reply was instantaneous again. _“last night, didn’t get much sleep, lol. hope you’re okay with me falling asleep on you when you get here :] love youuuuuu!”_

Something about that made shivers run down George’s spine. He imagined it as the plane engine grumbled, readying for take off, popping the 3 melatonin gummies stuffed away in his backpack. Dream, sleepy, curled up with his head in George’s lap. Maybe he’d stretch his arms up towards George’s face, tracing his jaw with his fingers. Maybe George would fluff his pretty blond hair, sweeping it away from his eyes. Dream would look up with him with all the admiration in the world. His best friend. 

This version of the song had an ending that was just Dream singing amongst Wilbur’s soft guitar. He turned it up as loud as it could go, and let it fill his head. Not just his head, it felt like, but his whole body. Like he was being picked up and carried and protected. That’s what it was. That’s what made Dream, all of him, feel like home. He hadn’t felt safe for a lot of his life, but he did with Dream. He felt like the most protected being in the entire universe. He didn’t just feel like a star, he felt like the entire sun when Dream looked at him like he did. The song slowly faded out, the sound of Dream clicking on his keyboard and muttering softly the only sound left. He wished Dream would sing that song for him, and only him. 

Again, his thoughts were severed by a booming voice and a message on the screen in front of him.

“Attention passengers, we will be taking off in a few short minutes. Please buckle your seatbelts and turn all electronic devices on airplane mode, or turn them off entirely. Thank you for choosing us as your airline of choice and have a safe flight.”

George quickly downloaded the song Dream sent, letting it start over again, and texted him one last time. 

_“Taking off now. And thank you for the song. Could you sing it for me sometime?”_

Dream’s text bubble popped up promptly, before disappearing. The second time it popped up, the message came directly after. _“i’ll sing to you whenever you want me to georgie.”_

George smiled to himself, buckling his seatbelt and skipping to the part in the song where it’s just Dream’s voice, plain and simple and perfect. He could feel the melatonin starting to work, his eyes drifting shut.

He tried not to think about Dream singing that song softly in his ears, as stupid as it was. He tried _really hard_ not to think about Dream’s hands cupping his face and sprawled out across his back as they hugged tight. Or how he’d let George sleep in his bed if he had a nightmare, and how that would be so, so much better than just having to listen to his voice 4000 miles away. 

He tried not to think about him, to fantasize what life would be like when he finally got home, but he did. He thought about it. The only thing inside his mind as he drifted off into sleep was _Dream, Dream, Dream._

_Soon, Dream. Soon I’ll be home._

* * *

When he woke up, his phone was dead and his legs were both asleep. _Shit._ He checked the time on the screen in front of him; he was nearly to Florida, only about 20 minutes outside of the airport. He closed his eyes and willed time to go faster. Surprisingly, it worked. The next thing he knew, he was being told to collect his things, then to exit in a single file line, and, instead of fighting the bitter cold of British mornings, he was embracing the warm, humid musk of a Southern Florida evening. 

It smelled different than back in London. It didn’t smell damp in a sad, depressing way, but in a bright, happy, beach-weather type of way. 

He looked around for Dream, searching for the mess of blonde hair amongst the crowd. It was nowhere to be found, though. Just faces he didn’t know or care about; none of them were his home. He thought about texting him, but his phone was dead. Maybe he shouldn’t have let that song play for 9 hours straight. He still thought it was worth it. He got to fall asleep listening to Dream’s soft, whispering voice, on the last night he’d have to do so alone. 

_Shut up,_ he told himself. _You’re acting like you two are getting married. You’re just gonna be roommates._

_You’re right._

_I know I am._

George kept searching that terminal, but found no one the likes of Dream. Giving up finding him here, he wandered towards the next terminal, then the next, then the next. Right as he was about to admit defeat and ask to borrow a stranger’s phone, he saw him. 

Dream. 

Sitting there, leg crossed over the other, his foot shaking like mad and his hand gripping his calf. His other arm was slung over the back of the seat, stretching out his neck so far George could see his tendon protruding out. 

_He’s so… large,_ George thought. _Ew. Don’t say that. Ignore you just thought that._

George continued staring at his focused eyes. He couldn’t see the color, but he could see the intensity. The passion. He wouldn’t admit it, for he didn’t know exactly what it was at the moment, but he wanted Dream to look at him like that. He wanted everything he had to offer.

Right before George all but decided to run up to him, say some witty quip before pulling him into a hug, Dream looked up, and he _finally_ felt home. 

He saw those perfect green eyes, misty and dark like they’d been painted by the best of artists, and he saw the blond hair flopped over his forehead, like every strand a. He saw the soul who’d shown him such kindness and compassion and… love. As much as George hated using that word, in that moment, he knew it was true. Dream loved him. 

Dream’s eyes lit up, his mouth forming an enormous grin, and his eyes turning glassy. Was he crying? George felt like crying too. He coughed it away, shoving the lump in his throat back down. 

He was about to meet his home. Find his place. He was finally going to be safe. 

Dream threw his phone down on the seat, abandoning his other belongings and walking -- no, _sprinting_ \-- towards George, with the best, most infectious smile spread on his lips. Soon, he was right there. He was right in front of him. And before George knew, he was being wrapped up in a hug so tight he could barely breathe. He liked it, though. _Loved it._ He never wanted it to end. 

He thought about what his first words to Dream would be, how he’d prepare this speech to give him, that was eloquent and thoughtful and full of life, but he didn’t do any of that. He said the first thing that came to his mind, no matter how hard he tried to stop himself. 

With his head buried in Dream’s chest, he whispered softly. “You smell nice.”

Dream laughed, loud and bright and infectious. “You idiot, I love you.” He sounded like he was crying, hard. 

“Are you crying?” George asked, trying to pull away. Dream just shoved his head back into the crook of his neck. 

“Of course I’m crying! You’re here, you’re real! How are you real?” he laughed, his large hand tangled in the hair at the base of George’s neck. “I’m so happy!” 

“Me too,” George said, not trying to sound ungrateful. He was overwhelmed, with his scent and his voice and how damn tall he was. George couldn’t believe it either. He couldn’t believe the man he’d dreamt about and cared about for so, so long, was holding him right now. He never wanted this to end. 

“I, uh -- I already got your bag,” Dream said, pulling away but still keeping George close in his grasp. 

“How did you know what bag it was?”

Dream wore the same smirk he always wore. “You were packing on call yesterday, muffin.”

The petname made him swoon, wanting to be called more than that. “What, are you Bad now?”

“While you were on the plane Bad and I called for like… six hours. He’s rubbing off on me. But,” Dream said, bouncing on his toes, “now you’re here to do that!” 

They both paused, George’s face heating up miserably, before Dream made a wincing laugh. 

“That sounded weird. Forget I said that.”

George only smiled.

“Oh! I have a gift for you,” Dream said rummaging around in his messenger bag. He pulled out a second pencil crossbow, with George’s name carved into the side. Well, not his name, but _Georgie._ He liked that better, anyway. It made him feel like he was Dream’s and Dream was his. 

“I love it. So, so much, Dream. Now I can hit you without having to take off my shirt anymore,” he blushed. 

“Not that I would mind that much,” Dream muttered, so quiet George almost thought he was hallucinating. He decided against bringing it up, and left the twisting feeling in his stomach to fester and grow the more he thought about it. 

Dream pulled him in for another suffocating hug. God, he hugged so much better than George had ever imagined. 

“So…” Dream started. “Welcome home, Georgie.”

**Author's Note:**

> so! that was the first chapter of Mr. Loverman! i’d love any feedback and opinions y’all have! the next chapter should be up in a few days, and i even have art from one of my lovely twitter mutuals coming! i hope everyone enjoyed! :D
> 
> Chapter 2 - Welcome Home (uploaded)


End file.
